


birthday surprises

by cactusparade



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Bisexual Arthur Morgan, Feminization, Gay John Marston, Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP, a few uses of the q-slur, little bit of dirty talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 08:30:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18567664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cactusparade/pseuds/cactusparade
Summary: "John has spent most of his adolescence knowing some part of him is fundamentally wrong. As he reaches his teen years and Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur needle and mock him for his skills with women, he laughs along while his eyes follow older men in saloons."An attempted birthday expedition ends unexpectedly for John after Arthur intercepts him.





	birthday surprises

**Author's Note:**

> so i originally posted this anonymously because it was my first fic for the fandom and my first time writing something explicit, but due to the positive feedback i received, i decided to just put it on my account!
> 
> not beta'd and picked over once so all mistakes are my own

John has spent most of his adolescence knowing some part of him is fundamentally wrong. As he reaches his teen years and Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur needle and mock him for his skills with women, he laughs along while his eyes follow older men in saloons. Every free moment in his hormone-addled brain is spent thinking about how it would feel to have a man on top of him, in him, pinning him down and forcing him to _take it_ \- 

He knows there’s something wrong with him, but he ignores it the best he can, only scratching the itch in dark rooms and darker alleys when the need becomes so strong he feels like he’ll vibrate out of his skin without it. He doesn’t care that people hang for the things he does; he’s been resigned to his inevitable death by bullet or noose the moment he started running with Dutch. That’s just his lot in life, and John has seen enough in his short two decades to know that life is never fair.

It’s his twenty second birthday today, and it’s been just over six months since he’s had another man’s hands on his skin. Six months of robbing, murdering, and running for his life, of nothing to work out the residual adrenaline in his veins after a firefight but his own hands. It’s been six months and he _wants_. He wants it so bad he swears he can taste it on the back of his tongue, metallic and harsh.

They’re hunkered down a stone’s throw away from Saint Denis. John knows there’s ample opportunity to find what he’s looking for there, it’s just a matter of sneaking away from camp unseen. He doesn’t think that’ll be a problem; drinks flowed freely tonight in celebration, whiskey in particular, John making sure to only drink enough to avoid drawing suspicion. It appeared to work well enough. No one commented on it, although Arthur’s gaze tracked his actions more often than not as the night progressed. 

With everyone settled in for the night, John starts for his horse, saddle tucked securely under his arm. He’s almost there, close enough to hear Amelia’s soft nickering, when a voice makes his freeze mid stride.

“Goin’ somewhere, Marston?”

John carefully sets his saddle down and turns. Arthur is leaning against a tree a few yards away, arms crossed loosely and looking surprisingly sober. Now that the panic creeping through him has cut through the lust that’s been clouding his mind all day, John realizes Arthur wasn’t keeping pace with Dutch and Hosea, deliberately sipping his beers while they chugged their liquor. 

“Goin’ into town,” John says, casual as he can.

Arthur makes a show of uncrossing his arms and digging into his pocket to check his watch. “At this hour?”

John shrugs, scuffs a boot in the dirt below. There’s no answer he can give that would satisfy Arthur’s curiosity.

“Maybe goin’ to visit a lady of the night, finish off the celebrations with a good time?” Arthur guesses.

Another shrug, this one half-hearted. “Somethin’ like that.”

Arthur hums. He pushes off the tree to come closer. _Sauntering_ is the only way John can describe it. “‘ _Somethin’ like that_ ’?” He repeats. “Hmmm. Well, based on our proximity to Saint Denis, I’d say a lady ain’t what you’re lookin’ for.”

John stomach drops to his feet. Every instinct that’s kept him alive thus far is screaming at him to run. To put as much space between himself and this new unknown he’s found himself in. “W-What?”

“You heard me,” Arthur says. He’s close enough to touch, using his superior mass to loom intimidatingly. “I ain’t dumb, Marston, and I ain’t blind neither. You ain’t never paid for a whore, never even been able to talk to a woman confidently. It used to confuse me, I’ll admit, but I thought maybe you was just scared of ‘em. But then I saw you around Mr. Douglas when we was scoping out the last job we did, and it clicked.”

John swallows. Mr. Douglas was an informant during their last robbery, and John was enamored from the first moment. He was a pretty man, there was no other way to describe it, soft from an easy upbringing but undeniably strong. John had stolen several kisses after their meeting had ended and wasn’t able to stop smiling the rest of the day.

Arthur hand is fast as a shot, darting out and curling fingers tight in the greasy hair at the back on John’s skull. He pulls and John whines helplessly as Arthur forces his head to the side to put his neck on display. Arthur tightens his fingers even further, steps in close enough to say directly into John’s ear, “You’re a queer, ain’t you, Johnny?”

John doesn’t reply, _can’t_ , knees weak, hands reaching out to grab at Arthur’s bicep to steady himself. Arthur growls, uses his grasp in John’s hair to shake him once. “Ain’t you?” He says again.

“ _Yes_ ,” John gasps, arousal and humiliation warring to take control of his body. His secret it out and the world isn’t ending, no one is shouting. It’s just him and Arthur, and he’s trusted Arthur with his life since he was twelve years old.

“S’what I thought.” Arthur sounds undeniably smug, which some part of John bristles at even as Arthur’s free hand travels down his chest and cups him through his jeans without preamble. “S’okay, I ain’t gonna tell anyone. Makes me wonder though,” he begins conversationally, like nimble fingers aren’t making quick work of the buttons on John’s jeans and union suit. “What is it ‘bout men that you like?”

“I don’t - I dunno,” John lies. It’s difficult to focus on anything when Arthur gets a hand around his cock, stiffening up at the attention being paid to it.

“Think you do.” Arthur’s hand is too dry, strokes just a touch too rough to be considered pleasurable. John would rather rob a train without a gun than tell him to stop. “Think you like feelin’ helpless, like being held down and lettin’ a man have his way with you. Think you like feelin’ like a _girl_.”

John’s close already, gasping and moaning as heat shifts to his groin and tightens it warningly. He shakes like he’s got an earthquake inside of him, so Arthur lets go of his hair to cup the scarred side of his face with a tenderness completely at odds with his quickening strokes. This close to orgasm, John would almost say it’s loving.

“Yeah, you do,” Arthur confirms to himself. “Will you be good for me, John? Come all over yourself like a good girl for me?”

John nods frantically, trying not to dislodge Arthur’s hand even though he doesn’t feel in control of himself at all. He wants to come, wants to know the bliss of going off with Arthur’s hands on him. The callouses on Arthur’s hand from years of hard living are gliding smoothly along his cock now, precum easing the way nicely.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Make a mess of yourself for me.” He’s almost there, balls drawing up, just needs something to push his over the edge. That’s when he feels Arthur’s lips on his, gentle and relatively chaste all things considered, but it’s enough.

“That’s it. _Good girl_ ,” Arthur is cooing, the hand that’s drawing out John’s orgasm moving to help support him when his knees buckle. His eyes close against his will, surroundings disappearing as he comes harder than he has in years.

When his ears clear and his heart rate starts to return to normal, Arthur is still saying sweet nothings quietly near his ear. His overheated skin is cooling along with the cum on his stomach and chest, beads of sweat trailing unpleasantly down his temples and spine. He takes a deep inhale that promptly whooses right back out when he sees Arthur cram his hand - the one covered with John’s mess - into his own pants to work himself.

“God, _Arthur_ ,” he chokes out, scrambling to open Arthur’s clothes to help the man out and get a better view.

Arthur looks beautiful. He’s got a flush all the way down to his chest, clearly visible in the moon’s light with how many buttons he elects to leave undone, and John wants to _taste_. His bright eyes are lidded, bottom lip caught between his teeth, strong and capable hand jerking his own cock with slick sounds.

And his _cock_. John groans lowly, wishing he could put his mouth on it. It’s fat and pretty, head even more red than his flushed chest, than his bitten lips. He looks divine. John’s own angel wrapped in a damning sinful exterior. He needs to see Arthur lose control.

John runs two fingers through the spend on his stomach and brings it to Arthur’s mouth, carefully coaxing it open and feeding them inside. Lust strikes likes lightning inside of him at the way Arthur sucks on them even though it can’t taste that good, moaning quietly and pulling his dick harder.

“You’re so good to me, Arthur,” John says reverently. He pulls his fingers out so he can hear Arthur pant. “So good to your girl, takin’ care of her pleasure before your own like a proper gentleman.” His fingers run up and down Arthur’s arms, fingertips digging into the muscle there at random intervals. “I need you to come now, get me wet and ready for your cock. Can you do that for your girl?”

Arthur whines, nods, and John files his reaction away for later. For all that Arthur started this out with his tough guy persona, John recognizes the same desire to submit that he knows intimately within himself. The same desire to hand control over to someone else when their entire lives are lived in complete control because they could die without it.

John sees the exact moment Arthur loses it, body tensing and eyes shutting, a groan pulled from deep inside his chest. Arthur’s spend drips hotly down John’s chest, so hot that John thinks for a second it’s branding him, marking him permanently, a physical reminder of this encounter that’ll change him irreversibly. 

Arthur shivers and lets go of his dick. The night around them is quiet, ambient noises a gentle blanket of sound that cocoons them. They each take half a step back, not speaking as they right themselves.

“So, uh, that was somethin’,” John says finally, once again in unfamiliar territory.

Arthur huffs. “Sure was.”

They look at each other momentarily and then look away awkwardly. John, not knowing what else to do, starts to laugh, small chuckles that evolve into hysterical guffaws. Arthur looks startled for a moment before he shrugs and joins in, and soon they’re leaning on each other as tears run down their faces.

When the laughter dies down, John kisses Arthur softly. Arthur leans into it, opening his mouth and encouraging John to do the same. It continues for a few minutes before Arthur breaks the kiss with a sigh. His clean hand strokes over John’s scars lightly.

“Beautiful,” Arthur whispers. John heart leaps; he smiles with the corners of his mouth, small but genuine.

“C’mon, let’s go get cleaned up,” John says. He pulls Arthur along with him, bumping his shoulder affectionately with his own.

Arthur follows easily, whistling faintly. John’s smile lasts the whole way to the river.

**Author's Note:**

> check out my [tumblr](https://cactusparade.tumblr.com/)


End file.
